Beauty in Death
by watchmedrown
Summary: Krillin, Yamcha, and Vegeta are the only survivors after the war... and the dragonballs are no long in existance. Vegeta begins to lose his grip on reality falling into the realm of insanity... /W happy ending and original ending... R/R PLEASE!!!!!!!!


AN: _THEY are a group of unnamed alien invaders, who derive their pleasure solely from the defilement of others. When they attacked Earth everyone banded together to fight the war… and ultimately lost. Contains the original ending. Lyrics belong to Beth Orton and are taken from her cd Central Reservation. The song is Blood Red River_

_"Took a friend I found  
Across some blood red river  
Never did find my way home  
In time to forgive her  
  
Why must people always want what they can't have?  
Why must people always grab what they'd never grasp?  
  
How did we get so far?  
How do we move so fast away  
From the lilac-lilied lake  
I'm sure we used to play  
Is it only a dream away?"_

He sat up in the cozy bed shaking, startled. His cool eyes darted around the room, and he felt a weight, as if he were forgetting something. His mind slid around, only half functioning in the semi-dark room, trying to remember what it couldn't grasp. He pulled the soft, fluffy covers back and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to awaken. He rubbed his face with his hands, shrinking back from the sharp, prickly hair. He tried to remember the last time he'd shaved, maybe yesterday. But lately he was getting yesterday confused with years, years with weeks, nights with days, dreams with reality. Nothing connected as it should have, nothing formed a cohesive train of events anymore. It all either blurred together, or became flashes of images and events that he couldn't connect. His brain refused to focus on anything for longer than a brief moment. He'd start to think about the world war, but his mind would skip merrily to what he was going to eat for a snack, the apple or the orange. And he'd sit there, contemplating this, weird images of rotting or oversized fruit flashing across his mind's eye, startling him. None of it made sense. Then he'd walk off, and forget that he'd ever been thinking about fruit in the first place. Sometimes he would suddenly remember the fruit, but it was usually days later, while he was trying to fall asleep. 

His speech was becoming affected, sometimes words slurred together to the point where nothing he said made much sense. He'd sometimes try to form a sentence, only to have the wrong words come out, or none come out at all. Some nights he just didn't talk for fear he'd say something that sound like a nursery rhyme, and some nights he just couldn't speak at all. He'd open his mouth, but all that would come out would be a moan. Those were the nights, the nights when he wasn't connected to the world. The nights were the worst because his mind drifted somewhere above his body, trying to grasp at the events of the past year, and failing to cope. He knew this was what had happened to Chi Chi, how it started before he had had to have her committed… maybe now she'd have company. The remaining warriors, Krillin, Yamcha, and himself, had all tried to heal her mind, break her free of the prison her mind was trapped in, but nothing had helped her. It made sense that she would be the first to go insane, having lost her husband so many times. His mind slid again, to the doors and windows of his small, fragile, empty home. He had checked all the locks hadn't he? In reality he'd checked them at least a dozen times, but he just couldn't remember, and he definitely didn't feel safe anymore.

He got up out of the bed, hissing at the sensation of his smooth bare feet against the cool tiles. He padded to his window, gazing out at the willowy trees shaking and shivering in the cool wind, their leaves occasionally ripped from the bark. They floated dead to the ground, but the tree didn't seem to notice or care. The moonlight illuminated his haggard face, playing with his eccentric features. He checked the lock, making sure it was secure. He shut out the pale light with the black, velvety sash that Bulma had insisted he install in the gothic-like guest room. It was impossible for him to go near the door that lead to their room; it still smelt of her, still held her presence. He wasn't surprised that his mind started at the thought of her, sidetracking to the other locks. He wasn't surprised that he was losing his mind either. It made sense that he would actually, if you figured in the physical and mental abuse he'd suffered living with Frieza. All the nights shaking, sobbing silently as the glistening tears streamed down his soft cheeks, his body broken, bruised violet and bleeding crimson pools. All the nights Frieza had showed him what sex was, whether Vegeta had wanted to or not, which he hadn't. He'd never really told Bulma the whole truth, only bits and pieces as he awoke from the nightmares that riddled his nights. She'd understood though, that he would need time to trust himself, to trust her. She'd understood a lot more than she'd ever let on about him fact, her diary had said as much. He had always been the craziest, it made perfect sense that he would one day lose the little sanity he had possessed.

_"Took a raft I found  
Across some blood red river  
Never did find my way home  
In time for my dinner  
  
Why must people always want what they never have?  
Why is it a crime to miss a part of you that's bled?  
  
_

He walked down the hall, opened the door to the neat bathroom and flipped on the light. The light bathed the room in a fake glow, shinning on the Spanish style tiles, everything was in order, the toothpaste, the three toothbrushes neatly arranged on the shelf. He looked at himself in the mirror briefly, marveling at how pale and thin his face was, not really believing it was his own. He walked to the small window, checking the lock. He briefly felt Bulma's soft arms enfolding him in an embrace, her warm, sweet breath tickling his back. He turned around, not really expecting to find her standing there, but wishing just the same. Another memory to haunt him. He flicked the light back off, padding to Trunks' room. He turned the door knob, and prepared himself. He opened the door and the images flashed through his mind, making him oblivious to the outside world. He saw his son's face contort in pain and anger as they tortured him mercilessly. The sound of his frightened and haggard screams as his flesh was torn, broken, and burned. He saw himself chained to the wall, forced to watch this, allowed to do nothing else but stare in horror. He opened his eyes, the images subsiding, tears trailing down his cheeks. 

He walked into the room, shaking slightly, praying that was the end of that onslaught. He walked to the window, side stepping comic books and various belongings, trying not to disturb his son's tomblike room. He'd locked that window too. He walked back into the hall, shutting the door. He started to tread down the stairs, but his legs moved him towards the end of the hall, and he no longer cared about the locks. He studied the walls as he was guided, feeling twinges of something in his chest as he walked past the framed photographs of his wife and son. He realized where his feet were headed, and began to cry again. His hand reached out and turned the knob, and he pushed it open with a slight creaking sound.

"'Geta, honey, fix that door for me would you?" His wife's voice echoed softly from somewhere behind him, ringing in his ears. In all the mess of the battle, he'd forgotten about the door, forgotten a lot of things. 

_"How do we get so far?  
How do we move so fast away  
From the lilac lilied lake  
Where I'm sure where we used to play  
Is it only a dream away?_

He glanced around the room, but he did not see the room. He saw the laboratory, assuming that was what it had been. Stark white walls, stained with drying brown, bloody hand prints and splashes. Tables with various gleaming tools, sharp knives, objects, and a spreader used for expanding things, say a chest. He saw Goku's form lying on the table, coal eyes unmoving and unseeing, aimed at heaven. He was completely naked, more red muscle than white skin showing, as he had been partially skinned. Various gashes and wounds, he assumed they'd raped him too, after all they'd raped him, his son, his wife, why not Goku. When it came down to it, they had shown no preference to who they hurt. His chest had been sliced open, a rib spreader in place, something twitching and slithering inside of him, slimy and pungent. They'd apparently placed a creature inside of him, but for what purpose he didn't know, maybe they were planning on sowing him back up with that thing inside of him… then bake them…He knew Goku had been awake when they'd cracked his ribs, he'd heard his frantic, blood-curdling screams. They'd chilled Vegeta to the bone, making his body shake uncontrollably. He had seen in his mind a memory of Frieza doing this to some poor fool, only this time the poor fool was his best friend. 

And then he saw her, his beautiful wife, lying on the table like an old rag doll. She was no longer beautiful. They'd experimented on them all, but they'd really had fun with Bulma's poor, fragile body. Only her torso was on this table, laying in a pool of sticky blood, the stench was enormously foul. Her head was propped on a smaller table, facing him. The eyes had been gouged out and were pickled in a jar filled with formaldehyde, along with his son's eyes, and he could see the tissue in the eye socket. Her face was pale white, her cheeks torn open displaying bone and muscle. Her arms and legs were on a final table, severed from the others. He began to sob, shaking so much the guard had trouble holding him up. He couldn't remember anything else about those years in captivity, except for the brief images his mind allowed him to see. The nightly visits he received in his cell, the echoing sounds of various human beings being tortured. The warriors had merged with the humans to form an army, an army that had been unsuccessful. **_They hadn't cared who they killed, infants, the elderly, man or woman it had made no difference. These people made Frieza seem Gandhi-like. At least Frieza hadn't dined on Vegeta's wife's flesh before his eyes, forcing him to watch. Forcing him to swallow a small chunk of her fleshy arm, causing him to gag and vomit for hours on end. He still vomited when he thought of the sickening taste in his mouth._**

They had eventually gotten tired of Earth, tossing away the few remaining humans and aliens that had been on board. There were about 5000 people on Earth now, of all ages, sexes and races. Now Earth was a shadow of itself, burning buildings riddling every inch of earth, the thick smoke and ash still in the sky, creating an almost eternal night. Krillin and Yamcha had been in another galaxy, never knowing about the war, returning to a broken land strewn with rotting bodies. They were scouring the universe for a way to turn back time, at the least a way to revive their fallen friends and family. But they all knew it was hopeless, each one trying to accept the situation in his own way.

_"Lost a friend  
I found down some blood red river  
Never did find my way home  
In time to forget her  
  
Why must people always want what they can't have?  
Why must people always take, but forget to ask?"_

Vegeta opened his eyes and found himself lying on his and Bulma's king size bed, on top of the onyx colored comforter. He could still smell her perfume, sweet yet spicy at the same time: fruit, with a dash of cinnamon and sandalwood. He was shaking and sobbing, softly whispering little nothings to the ghost of his wife in his heart. He saw his son as a child, giggling and smiling stupidly. The way his fingers felt as he ran them through his wife's hair, the way her soft skin felt against his own was intoxicating him with grief. Why hadn't he died by her side?! 

He heard Goku's soft, childlike voice in his ears. He'd hated them all before, passionately cursing them, dreaming of the day when he would end their lives.  Then he had accepted them as part of his life, accepting their advice and occasionally enjoying their company. After awhile he had grown to love and cherish them all, before losing them all to darkness. He fell asleep listening to the words of his deceased friends, his mind sliding out of reality. 

He sat up at three a.m., suddenly wide awake and terrified. Something was coming, something that was going to rip his flesh from his body… and then he awoke, but not all the way. He felt asleep, but awake, alive but dead, aware but unaware. He merely watched himself as he calmly rose from the bed, straightening the comforter. He walked to the door and opened it slowly, taking one last look at the room. It was a mixture of his and her soul's… a few carvings resembling skulls his, knick knacks hers. It was the concoction that had been them, strong and week, loyal and wild.  He closed the door, sensing finality about the whole process. Somewhere in the back of his mind his father's voice shouted at him, told him to call someone, to get help. 

"Call someone Vegeta! Call Krillin, talk to him! Please don't do this!" He said fiercely from inside of him.

He was guided by the sharp voice in his head, commanding him to go down the soft wooden stairs, past the dining room and into the friendly kitchen. Sometimes it was Frieza's voice, other's it was Nappa's. Then it began to shift from Gohan's to Bulma's, telling him he had no reason not to do it. He tried to fight them, but he was weak and exhausted, so instead he gave in to inevitability. He padded down the stairs, trailing his hand down the staircase, admiring the hanging leafy plants Bulma had hung to the right. He made sure to water them every time he went downstairs. Somewhere from his past he heard Chi Chi playing the melancholy "Moonlight Sonata" on the elderly piano Goku had bought for their anniversary.  He reached the bitterly cold tile floor, his feet making a low slapping sound as he walked past the homely dining room with its wooden chairs and expansive table into the darkened kitchen. He walked past the light switch and instead reached into the farthest right drawer and retrieved a box of matches. Bulma kept candles strewn all over the house, preferring their soft glow to the harsh false light produced by the various overhead lamps. He lit them all, so that the room resembled a church in its hushed silence and peace. 

He walked to the sparkling clean kitchen counter near the sink, and reached into the rack of knives. He thought carefully about them all, testing each one's sharpness on his finger, until the wounded tip was bluish. He took an adhesive bandage from the box kept above the sink, and wrapped it around his finger, not wanting to ruin the perfect countertop. He chose a short, extremely sharp knife, shiny and cool. He wondered where he should do this at. The dining room seemed too formal, the living room too happy a place for this. He walked to the foyer, and unlocked the door, walking outside into the harsh winter air. The wind blew angrily at his face, causing him to gasp. He shivered, very aware of his bare feet and torso. Vegeta sat down on the porch swing, swinging back and forth, studying the horizon. The first light of morning was beginning to show, and he wondered if he'd miss the sun. He laid the knife beside him, listening to the sounds of the night, marveling at the cold, his nipples hard and erect at the bitter temperature. He was going to do this. 

He picked up the knife, and held its tip to his wrist…

Suddenly there was a rumbling sound from in the distance, moving towards his home. He thought of his fear upon waking, and the startling thought that something was coming for him. He scanned the presence, realizing it could only be Yamcha and Krillin. He sighed and stood up, lifting the seat and placing the knife inside for later. He hoped they left soon, before he lost his will to commit suicide. Their car slowly inched towards him, the tires fighting the snow and roughness of the road He looked at the rising sun, cursing it and its warmth. The wind beat at his skin, but he didn't mind, it felt good compared to the coldness and aching inside of his heart. The car was close enough now that he could see the two warrior's faces, and they were grinning stupidly at him. He wondered what in the hell was going on as they parked, and three not two people got out. Yamcha rushed to him, tackling him in a warm embrace, surprising him. Vegeta smiled slightly as Krillin and the other man approached the porch.

"Hey Vegeta!" Krillin said merrily, and Vegeta sat back down and cocked his head, scowling.

"Little cold out here isn't it?" Yamcha, shivering, asked Vegeta, for the first time noticing that he looked like death warmed over.

"Yeah, it's cold out here, let's go inside!" Krillin almost shouted, and Vegeta glared at him.

"I like it out here just fine. What do you want?" He asked, shocking the two. He hadn't acted like this in years, not since he'd first them. Sure, he said some nasty things, but always playful and the other always knew he never meant them. But he said this with venom.

"Uh, okay." Krillin said, and the three sat down. 

Vegeta studied the older man. He certainly was human, that was obvious. His skin was a pale bluish color, beautiful yet odd. His skin was riddled with ravines and cracks, making him appear ancient. His hair was flowing and curly, white with gray speckles. He wore black robes with strange markings on them in pinkish-red, and he carried with him a wooden cane with some kind of animal's head. His eyes glowed with warmth and knowledge, causing Vegeta to shift uncomfortably. 

"Who are you?" Vegeta barked at him, and the old man smiled.

"This is Mr. Aeronoma. He's a friend of King Kai's… and he's a necromancer. He can bring people back from the dead 'Geta. All he needs is a few of their belongings. We would have brought the others with us, but they're staying with Chi Chi, helping her come back to us."

Krillin's words sunk in slowly, like a knife plunging in his heart. His thoughts where spinning and whirling. He could bring back the dead. The others were alive. 

"The others?" He whispered, not believing a word of it.

"Yeah, the others. Gohan, Goku, Master Roshi, Picollo… everyone." Krillin said, almost singing.

"And now, all we lack are your wife and son." Aeronoma said, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, then maybe we should go inside…" Vegeta said his mind a blur of images and emotions, the knife forgotten.

The sun was high in the cloudy sky, bathing the country side in warmth and hope. The snow began to slowly melt, trickling into little puddles of cool liquid. The rejoicing voices of Trunks, Chi Chi and Vegeta could be heard clearly for miles, contrasting sharply with the deadly silence of the fallen world.

_"How do we get so far?  
How do we move so fast away  
From the lilac lilied lake  
Where I'm sure where we used to play  
Is it only a dream away?  
Only a dream away."_

_Original Ending:_

_He picked up the knife and held it to his wrist…_

_ It was so sharp that when he applied the barest amount of pressure, the tip punctured the delicate flesh, thick red blood flowing down his arm. He began to sob, knowing there was no turning back. His heart ached, and his body was cold with more than the winter air. Snow began to drift down from the heavens, coating his hair and shoulders in wetness. . The sobs racked his body as he pictured his beautiful wife's face as they had raped her, tearing her sensitive flesh, and then the gruesome site of her severed head. He slashed open his wrist, applying an enormous amount of pressure with his power, nearly severing his own wrist from his arm. He cried out as the blinding pain tore through his body. Blood gushed out from his wound, splattering nosily onto the wooden porch. Snow fell into the open wound, and he was blinded by the pain of his actions. His knees gave out from under him, and he feel to the ground with a thud. The blood freely pooled around his body, bathing him in warmth. He lay down, starring up at the dark sky. The pain was immense, but he was growing cold now as the world spun around him separate from his own. The blood trickled down the steps onto the snow, staining it crimson. He wondered if the animals would come, at least they'd have a meal of him._

_After all, all around the world the animals were practically taking over, consuming the corpse of so many soldiers, so many men, women and children. The soul survivors left with the unbearable pain of loss and grief, the memories of being tortured and beaten, raped and mutilated. He was beginning to fade now, and he closed his eyes and dreamed of his childhood with Frieza as his life slowly ended. When his remains were finally found, Krillin and Yamcha buried him beside Bulma and Trunks' empty grave, praying he was finally at peace._

_But Vegeta discovered that apparently life after death isn't pleasant for those who had done wicked things in their life. For he did not awaken to find Bulma standing over him, whispering to him. Instead his dream never ended, and he relieved his life over and over, always with the same ending, his own suicide. _


End file.
